The Logistics of Crime
by Asher Elric
Summary: Government Information are always best kept safe in the worset of wrong hands. Sands now has to procure said information. But some things aren't as easy as they look. Cross over with Secret Window. Pre OUATIM.
1. Chapter 1

Summary – Government secrets are meant to be secrets best looked after in the worst of wrong hands.

**The Logistics of Crime**

**Chapter 1 – Legal issues**

"Amy! He's rubbernecking!" Mort glared at the other man. How the hell Amy thought he would let Ted look over the list of things they had was beyond him. He was sure Todd was after something he had but for the life of him he wasn't exactly sure what that was.

"Look, legally you can't look at the list, sometimes people don't mind but…Mr. Rainy does," the insurance lawyer said.

"Yes," Mort put in," Mr. Rainy minds a lot!"

Amy rolled her eyes and turned to Ted: "Hey, why don't I take a walk around the block?" he asked.

"Yes," she nodded her head in agreement. As Ted walked towards the door to leave Mort couldn't help but give one last stab at the man: "Oh, hell Teddy, why don't you make it two?"

He didn't get much in return, but, nonetheless it made him feel better.

**--Six Months Later--**

Agent Sheldon Jeffery Sands stared at the man before him; where they really giving him his own case? Was he really ready to handle it? He hoped so, he knew that it was basically the first five cases a rookie took on by themselves that either made or broke their career. Bernard was sucking on his cigar; he was a large, fat man with no eyebrows and his face was always puckered, as if he was consistently sucking on something sour.

"What is this? Nothing's happened yet," Sands said with a glare at the man. He could swear Bernard had it out for him. Always giving him the stupidest shit to do.

"Yes. But we think Rainy has something of Governmental Issue and we need it back before it falls into the wrong hands," Bernard explained to Sands as if he were talking to a little kid who had asked a very stupid question.

"Okay, I get it that you don't like me. I totally understand, because half the time I don't like myself half as much as other people don't like and then again they tend to like me even less. However, I must concede to you and ask why the fuck you're having me spy on some stupid writer who hasn't the guts to actually sing the fuckin' divorce papers?" Sands replied.

"Didn't your English teacher teach you to not talk in unending sentences?" Bernard asked.

"And didn't yours ever tell you not to start a sentence with a retarded word such as "didn't"?"

"Who cares? Now then, get going before I decide to blow you're brains out. The higher ups wouldn't give a fuck anyway," Bernard replied. He blew smoke into Sands face. The young man gave Bernard the universal hand signal to go "fuck" himself before he left with the case file in hand.

--

The one thing you have to do before starting on a case, was, you had to make sure you knew everything about the suspect as humanly possible. Now, if you were a terribly dedicated person, you would get as many files on this person as you could. Run names and shit through the system (or as much of it as you could). Bring up criminal records (if any) and basically make a hell of a lot of paper work for you.

Sands wasn't that sort of person. Well, he was terribly dedicated (to his cigarettes) and he went the extra mile (if only to get a fuck) not to mention that sometimes he did something nice (if only to benefit himself in the end) and so – somehow- he had shown up in the small town of Tashimore Lake.

For Main, the bloody town was like any other small American town. It had a shitty motel for star-crossed lovers to rendezvous at whenever they felt like it. There was a stupid bank where everyone went anyway and a General store that also served as a diner. All in all, it was stupid.

He also had to find a way to blend in; not a tourist, this wasn't that sort of town. Probably the perfect place though for someone who wanted a bit of peace and quiet; which meant one thing, real-estate.

--

At first he had gotten lots of weird looks as he went in search of real estate broker. But in the end he found that rather small office. It had one desk and a chair that serviced as the living room. The back room must have been an office and a break room in one. The woman he talked too was youngish, no more the seventeen, maybe.

"How can I help you?" she asked. Sands smiled at her kindly.

"I am looking for a cabin," he said simply. The girl looked off into the distance for a moment while she un-seeing-ly got the current listings.

"Let me see, we have two. They're both by the lake," she replied.

"When can we take a look? Ye see, my buddy and I need a hunting cabin for the summers, and seeing as how its so nice up here, we figured it'd be the perfect place," Sands explained.

"I can take you by today, if you want," she replied.

"I'd like that," Sands grinned.

--

In the end, Samantha Somers hadn't come with him alone. Her boss (and Uncle if one could dream of it) had also decided to come along. They took their car, Sands sat up front with Horace Somers.

"Lake front property is pretty scarce these days, it's gotten only a bit better. But it was bad circumstances," Horace was explaining.

"How so?" Sands asked. They passed a driveway and a cabin as he asked this question. For a fleeting moment, Sands saw a man with sandy blond hair smoking outside.

"That man, he's Mort Rainy, it's said that he killed a couple of people," Horace replied.

"Oh?"

"Look here, mister, if your looking for a mystery. Leave that one be. The Sheriff all ready told him not to come into town, now he has to drive twenty miles to New England," Horace said.

"Is the Sheriff allowed to do that?" Sands asked.

"I don't think so,"

"Right, of course not, discrimination and all the shit," Sands muttered.

"Either way, I don't want to dissuade you from a purchase, just be careful of that one," Horace said.

"Don't worry 'bout me," Sands grinned. This was going to be fun.

--

In the end, Sands didn't decide on either cabin. If he had too he'd hole up in Rainy's. The other thing Sands had done when he found out whom he was shadowing, was pick up the current book the man had written. He also had old news papers the Company had saved.

None of the articles had Rainy in a good light. Most said he was crazy and half of them said that they didn't bother to ask him what had happened seeing as how no one wanted a shovel to their heads. Not that that was surprising. But, Sands wasn't scared of anything, he could shoot the man, and leave him alive. If he so chose.

Sands stayed up late that night learning more about his suspect.

--

Mort Rainy was just beginning to blink the sleep out of his eyes when the phone rang. He hated the phone. It was the bane of his life and yet, telephones tended to keep people alive. Well, sometimes. Like in the old slasher movies. You knew what was going to happen and yet, the character still died because they decided not to call someone or get out of the house. Instead they just went upstairs to a certain doom. Really, how stupid people could be sometimes.

So, without a seconds thought. Mort pulled the wire from his wall and the ring was killed off. Sighing, he decided to go back to sleep before getting any work done that day.

--

Writing wasn't for everyone. First of all, one had to have a slight idea where a story was going; second, you couldn't do stupid shit that would get you into deeper shit later on. You had to keep all your details in order to refer back to them later on.

That was why Mort never read any manuscripts. First, half the time the author really didn't know what the hell they were doing. Not to mention that half of them thought they were better anyway, so why waist time reading some shit if his opinion wasn't going to be taken seriously?

Right, he wasn't going to waist it that sort of time.

Mort was interupted from his slight writing rant when a knock came to his door.

--

A/N -- This is a slight experiment with these two fandoms. Please tell me what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N – I would like to thank everyone who reviewed this fic

**A/N – I would like to thank everyone who reviewed this fic. I appreciate it. A lot!**

**Warnings – I suppose language would be one. I don't want to make this 'M' for it though. Ah…drinking…smoking….violence….yeah….all of that. **

* * *

**The Logistics of Crime**

**Part 2 **

* * *

"Oh shit…." Mort muttered. This was how it started last time and let's faces it; last time wasn't exactly a walk in the park. Unfortunately, Mort never could NOT answer the door when someone obviously needed to talk to him. He just hoped it wasn't an unnaturally mad parent coming to talk to him about some stupid shit their kid had done on his property. For some reason, Mort hated that more than being accused of plagiarizing.

Mort opened the door the two inches the chain allowed; "Hello," he greeted carefully. He blocked the right side of his body so that he could inch his hand into the drawer of the desk by the doorway.

"Yes, yes you can, you see – I'm buying some property and I don't trust realtors. So, since I saw your car, I figured I'd ask you what you thought of the neighborhood," the man said.

Mort's mouth dropped open and he blink in such a way that he was sure the other man knew exactly what he was thinking; "You're kidding, right?"

"No," the man replied.

"Okay…er – the neighbors are only dicks to people who they think are crazy and have killed people, not to mention, said people must be buried someplace on the property and are only waiting for said murderer to sell the property so it can be search, even if it could be done legally," Mort replied.

"So…they're friendly then?" the man asked.

"To strangers," Mort replied.

"Ah," the man shook his head.

"Was there anything else? Because if not I gotta go and work and..."

"What do you do?" the man asked.

"I…write…" Mort licked his lips in a nervous way.

"Do you happen to know a man by the name of Ted Milner?" the man asked.

"Unfortunately," Mort sighed.

"Do you know where he lives?"

"What is this? The Spanish Inquisition? I don't know where that bastard lives because he's my X-WIFE'S boyfriend, savvy?" Mort replied angrily.

"Hold on there, Pard'ner, no need to get pissed,"

"Considering that I don't know you, and you're getting kinda personal…what did you expect?"

"Not this,"

"Okay, get off my porch," Mort replied and shut the door in the man's face.

Mort leaned on the heavy oak door for a few moments till he heard footsteps, he turned to a window that looked out over the doorway. The man didn't look happy, he would have passed for Johnny Cash if he had a guitar with him. Dressed in black with his hair in a pony tail and a fedora hat to go with shades and a bloody nice sports car wasn't the sort of man Mort figured would go for a cabin in the middle of nowhere, with only a hick town the closest thing to entertainment these days.

Mort watched as the mystery man slowly back down the drive way, almost running over his mail box, but correcting his line of site to miss it by two inches. Mort shook his head. Why would anyone be interested in Ted Milner? If the man had any brains, he would have realized that Ted and Amy had gone on vacation to Tucson or something like that.

"Why would anyone want to go to Tucson anyway?" Mort asked himself as he made his way back up the stairs to his computer. With all the idea's running around in his head, Mort wasn't surprised to have included a mystery man into his manuscript. Of course, he knew he would curse himself for doing it, since he wasn't sure what the new character's roll was for.

--

"What the hell do you mean by you don't know WHERE THE FUCK HE WENT?!" Sands yelled at the Agent who was safely a thousand miles away from him with the use of a wonderful gadget called a telephone. The other agent really was very lucky. He only had to listen to Sands curse at him; he didn't have to deal with a gun in his face.

Which to Sands was an injustice in and of itself.

"I'm telling you," the agent started again, "That we don't know where Milner is,"

"You are totally screwing the pooch, ain't ya?" Sands asked.

"No, we have records of he and…an…Amy Rainy getting married…but…"

"Wait…Rainy? Married? Maybe that's why," Sands said.

"What are you talking about?" the agent asked.

"Stop being so fucking stupid! If they got married than maybe they had someone pay for their fucking honeymoon!" Sands replied with an elaborate eye roll.

"Oh,"

"Look on cruise ship dockets and…other vacation…things…I don't have time for this shit," Sands muttered as he hung up on the agent on the other end. Sometimes he wished he had became a concert pianist like his mother wanted him to be.

"Why the hell wasn't I stationed in Alaska?" he had to ask himself as he drove to New London.

--

Mort swore to himself that he wouldn't go through the boxes. However, the ten or so boxes that crowded the space underneath his stair case were just getting to him. Sure, he wasn't the best clean-up person in the world, in fact, he had been the cleanest of all his buddies in college, however, he had to admit that when one had their one place and when they didn't have anyone coming for a visit…well…thing tended to get away from them.

It was the same in this case, and so after he cleared up the dishes from the last three days and had the dish washer going. He picked a box at random to go through. Much to his delight, it was full of books. Mort loved books, if there was one thing he would have hate to let Amy and Ted have, it was HIS books.

Some of these books were bloody old too. He was sure that some would come out to a lot of money if he ever decided to sell them. Which of course he wouldn't unless he was in a bind, but, they looked nice on his shelves. Some the books were even first volumes, though he had some later one, but, the point of the book was the story, not the leather binding or the fact that the author had dedicated it to their loved ones in their own hand-writing.

Mort loved all of these books for one reason only…the story.

Which brought him full force to his newest book; it had taken on a life of its own with the mystery man just enlivening the plot that much more. He had a slight idea about the character but not much, considering that he was going off his own mystery man. Why would he want Ted Milner anyway? Mort asked himself, it seemed rather stupid, if his opinion had been asked.

--

Meanwhile, miles away from the cold of Main, Ted and Amy Milner sat on their beach chairs enjoying the Caribbean ocean tickling their feet. It had been Amy's idea to go to the Caribbean islands for their Honeymoon. Ted's parents had paid for the week long trip, saying that it would be good for both of them to get away. Considering everything that had gone wrong with that "Crazy writer!". Ted's Mother, Victoria had mentioned how they were both lucky the man hadn't tried to kill them.

Amy had to admit, that when Mort had just keeled over once the conversation got violent…well…that part had also faulted Ted who punched Mort, hard. Amy doubted Mort remembered that though, if he had, she was sure he would have ranted to her about it.

Amy sighed as she stretched out.

"Are you all right, dear?" Ted asked.

"Perfect," Amy smiled. Ted was going to say something else, but a tap on his shoulder by a waiter brought his attention else where. The waiter told him he had an important phone call.

Amy rolled her eyes; she knew the Ted's job was important. He couldn't tell her what it was, but nonetheless. She didn't appreciate their honeymoon being interrupted for anything stupid that had to do with computers and programs…among other things.

Amy returned to the book she had brought along for just a time as this. There was no telling how long Ted had to stay on the phone. However, she couldn't help but watch him. He was buff, he was a wonder in the bedroom…but sometimes he got a bit too…what was the word she was looking for? Mort always had a word at the ready….

Protective?

Yes, kind of. She had to admit.

Angry?

Sometimes.

Upset…that actually described him right now. Something that someone was telling him wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear. Amy couldn't hear what he was saying but she was sure that whoever was on the other end of the phone was getting the reamed.

A few minutes later, with drinks in hand, Ted made his way back over to the beach chairs.

"Sorry about that, sweetheart," he said.

"Don't worry about it," Amy replied with a smile.

--

A/N – I hate this chapter! I hate it! I am trying to set up and setting up chapters when I have no clue what is going to happen just pisses me off!

Oh! I know that I got the places where Ted and Amy went mixed up. But, it's supposed to be that way!


	3. Chapter 3

**The Logistics of Crime**

**Part 3**

**--**

**The house was three stories tall.** It had a pale yellow paint job with green trim. There was a white picket fence, a green yard, and shutters. It was the sort of house that well to do people would live in. The sort of house that spoke of kids who were very well behaved. The sort of house that a writer would buy and lose in a nasty divorce.

This had been Rainy's house, Sands knew, but by default, it went to his x-wife, who was now in the Caribbean. Sands arrived in the middle of the afternoon, the kids weren't home from school and soccer moms were on their way to a game or to practice. So, Sands had all the time in the world.

The first thing he had to do though was find out if Milner used an alarm system or relied on neighbors to watch their house. In such a neighborhood, it wasn't abnormal for a family to think they were safe when they were really at quite a risk. Sands, armed with a search warrant just in case (it wasn't what he normally did but it was pushed by the higher-ups) approached the house in a leisurely gate and whistle. He checked under the mat for a key while trying to peak inside. He didn't see an alarm box. He figured that he had possibly forty-five seconds before the alarm went off (if there was one).

Sands looked in a flower pot near the door and found the extra key. Rolling his eyes at the stupidity of people in general, he let himself inside the house. There was no beeping as he swung the door open, and after he counted to forty-five (while searching for the box) and no alarm went off, he figured that the Milner's didn't bank on getting robbed.

Ted Milner probably thought himself invincible. But, he only worked for security, Sands had more clearances than Ted could shake a stick at and STILL there was stuff that not even he, Jeffery Sheldon Sands, could get his hands on. Not that he wouldn't try.

Whistling a bit just to fill the silence, Sands found the office, sitting down at the desk chair, he turned the computer on. He searched the drawers of the desk for anything that would be useful while the computer booted up. Now, the thing about pass words that was usually right about EVERYONE, was that they would probably pick a name. When the pass coded screen came up, Sands typed in any names that he had read in Ted Milner's file. After that failed, he did names and dates, it was Amy Milner's birthday coupled with her 'nickname' for when they were having sex that finally let Sands gain access to the computer.

He could tell that Amy Milner didn't use this computer, or if she did, it wasn't apparent. All of the documents had confusing names, names that honestly didn't let him know what they were just by looking, he opened a file by random and found the specs for a rocket NASA was all ready working on. Rolling his eyes and sighing heavily, he decided that he would have to let Ted know that he had been in the house. Honestly, what good was some idiot who professed to be the best in National security when he pass coded his PERSONAL computer with some stupid-ass pass word, and then put sensitive information on said PERSONAL COMPUTER?

Digging in his jacket pocket, Sands brought out a floppy disk and popped it into the computer. It would take twenty minutes for the files to download, so Sands decided to take a tour of the house. He topped by the kitchen first to see if there was anything good to eat, he found some yogurt and decided that was probably as good as he was going to get. The spoon drawer was to the left of which he found after opening every other one.

He then decided to pay a visit to the master bedroom; one way to learn about people was how they kept their bedroom. If a person was generally organized while at school or work, you could basically bank on their room being a mess. Books worms were like this. In his case, Sands saw that the two were probably rather organized no matter what. The bedroom was spick and span, if that was just because they were on vacation or not, Sands didn't know. He put his yogurt down and went through the bed side tables.

In the left one, he found a spiral bound, pink and purple book, the words on the front page made him raise his eyes. This was Amy Milner's diary, and, Sands smirked, knowing women, she would probably have a lot of dirt on both Ted and he X-husband.

"Life is good," Sands said to himself. He grabbed up his yogurt and made his way back down stairs to the office where his disk was ready for him. After pocketing it, he took out another one and popped it in, then he downloaded the program on it. After that was down, he left the yogurt cup and spoon on the key board and made his way back out side where he locked the door and re-hid the key.

Whistling, he walked down the street, he had parked a block away just so that he wouldn't look too suspicious to others in the neighborhood. He smirked to himself, this job had just got easier for him.

--

Mort yawned.

He had agonized over a certain plot hole in the book forever the night before. Nothing he had written had been right and he was back to tearing out his hair like months before when the divorce with Amy wasn't even finalized. Finally, he had decided to forget the shitty plot hole and go to bed, but his brain just wouldn't let go of it and he had terribly odd dreams or sleepless moments all night long.

Now, at ten in the morning, yawning from no sleep and annoyed with himself for being stupid about the whole thing, he decided to make some coffee and go for a run. Sometimes a quick run on the trail beside the lake was all it took for him to think more, or to just lose himself in whatever trivial thoughts that he wanted to be lost in.

What he didn't plan on, in his haze, was tripping over a box he didn't remember leaving on the landing of the stair well and falling the rest of the way down the stairs. He thumped and banged along till he was rolled out flat at the bottom of the stairs. Blinking up at the ceiling, Mort took a deep breath before moving.

Thankfully nothing was broken.

"Thank God no one was there to see that…" he muttered when he finally got to his feet. He noticed that he had stepped on something hard, moving his slipper covered foot he found a blue floppy disk. Nothing was written on it, but, that hardly mattered. Shaking is head, he had to wonder what stupid-ass manuscript he hadn't finished and if it was anything good.

Wracking his brain, Mort put the grounds and water into the coffee maker, letting it percolate, he took the disk upstairs to his computer to see what he had forgotten from his years as a beginner writer.

--

"Can you believe that ass fucking ass hole?" Bernard shook his head and lit up another cigar. Sands and Bernard sat in Sands room in the motel not far from Mort's cabin. It was probably only a fifteen minute drive.

"Yeah, Milner is an idiot," Sands said, he laid on the bed, not terribly concerned about Bernard.

"He's more than an idiot, Jeff, he's one of those guys who don't think they're at risk," Bernard replied.

"The fucking ass-can let sensitive government information on his personal computer that wasn't even pass coded correctly, it should have taken me more that fifteen minutes to crack it," Sands replied, popping open an eye, he watched Bernard smoke.

"Sure, fuck…this dude has shit he ain't supposed to have…" Bernard muttered.

"Oh?" Sands perked up at that.

"Maybe, our problem isn't Rainy," Bernard said.

"How do you figure? Well, besides the point that he obviously isn't a risk at all?" Sands said sarcastically.

"Shit, Rainy may write pretty close to the truth, but from what we know of him, he doesn't give a damn. He just picks it up in random books written about the government. He doesn't know anything beyond what any other normal American Citizen would know," Bernard said.

"Right, so, ignorance is bliss, according to now," Sands said.

"Right, but, I think Milner is up to something. I'm going to have some of our boys keep an eye on him in the Caribbean, we can't take chances," Bernard said, he picked up his cell to call in some reinforcements.

"Don't worry, I tied up all the ends," Sands waved his hand as if Bernards worries was nothing but a fly to squash.

--

"FUCK!"

Mort jumped back from the computer, completely tearing his hair out now. This was not what he had in mind when he put the floppy disk into his drive to see what shitty writing he was capable of at one point in time.

Sweating a bit, he took the floppy out and looked around. He had to figure out what to do with it, short of destroying it. Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. Shaking his head, Mort stumbled down the stairs in a sort of drunken haze and went in search of the hammer he knew was in the kitchen.

Lost with his paranoid thoughts, Mort accidentally smashed the top of his hand with the hammer. Cursing, he knew his hand was broken. But, that didn't stop him from putting as much force as he could behind his blows.

Effectively smashing the floppy into tiny bits. The information gone. He never had it and he never saw it. End of story.

--

A/N – Okay, finally I updated. Yayness! Please reciew!


	4. Chapter 4

**The Logistics of Crime**

**Part 4**

**Driving had been hell.**

Breaking ones hand was a bad idea no matter what the circumstances. So, when he had finally gotten home after the rushed drive to the hospital in New England (there wasn't any closer anyway, so it really didn't go with the Sheriff's rules) and getting his hand prodded at for most of the day; coming home to call his Editor that the book had to be put on hold because he couldn't type any faster with one hand had been fun.

Mort sat down on his couch. It was dark and the wind howled spookily outside. He wished he could go to bed and forget about that stupid floppy disk. It only now occurred to him that he hated floppy's for a reason. Always had and so he wondered why he didn't think of it when he found it and popped it into his computer (which did have a floppy drive but it was old and at the time a good price and it had served him well).

The flash of lights on the far wall and the sound of a car driving up the drive way made Mort look up and with curiosity rumbling in his veins he got to his feet and went to see who could be at his home so late in the night. A clock somewhere in the house struck ten and as Mort watched the man approach he knew who it was.

Well, knowing and recognizing are two different things. The knock on the door and he opened it slowly, just like before. The man didn't wear shades, for it was dark, he smirked at Mort lightly.

"Mind if I come in?" he asked. The muzzle of the gun in his gut made Mort step back and blink, not in surprise, somehow, he knew that this man was dangerous. The man entered and shut the door behind him, locked it as well.

"What do you want here?" Mort asked. He didn't look away from the man in black. He had the theory that looking away, to any weapon hidden, would give the hiding spot away and he didn't want to do that.

"I want some answers and you're the only person who knows anything," the man relied.

"Apparently," Mort replied. The man waved his gun to the kitchen are and without turned his back on the stranger Mort followed the direction.

"Do you have the name? I can't very well call you The Man In Black, now can I?"

"Nope, that title is only good for the Alien Babysitters and the FBI," the man laughed.

"You can call me Sands,"

Mort nodded; Sands pushed him into a chair, reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a pair of handcuffs. Mort didn't dare fight; he didn't want to be dead. That would just set others on the road of smug pride and Mort had decided that staying alive and living in this cabin just annoyed them enough to make it all right.

His wrists were slipped into the restraints, the chain threaded between the spindles of the chair. The man stepped back and tucked the gun away. Then he went to the fridge and grabbed a Mountain Drew, he opened it and sipped before turning back to Mort.

"Tell me what you know about Ted Milner," Sands ordered.

"I don't know much," Mort replied, "He's been married before, he has two kids from that marriage, he slept with my wife, got her to divorce me. He works for the Government and has an uncanny obsession with car windows," Mort replied.

"That's all?" Sands gave him a look.

"Amy didn't like to talk about him with me," Mort shrugged, "They were fucking in the bloody 8 Motel, what does that have to say about people? I say, if your gonna cheat on someone, at least have some class about it," He retorted.

"True," Sands nodded his head. He crossed the kitchen and sat at the kitchen table.

"Did you ever go to his place?"

"No, Amy got the house, I went and picked up some stuff, but wasn't allowed in," Mort replied.

"Was Teddy on his phone a lot?" Sands asked.

"Er…" Mort looked away, he couldn't exactly say if Ted had been on the phone or not at the time, "I think a phone was ringing, but I can't say that I saw him, if that's what you want," Mort replied with another shrug.

"Fuck…" the man guzzled at the soda, probably wishing it was something stronger.

"He did mention a name…" Mort offered.

"What?"

"Yeah, Amy was talking with me on the porch when Teddy went to tell whoever it was to fuck off. He said Jason," Mort replied.

"Jason…huh…." Sands smirked.

"Tell me, handsome, what happened to your hand?" Sands asked suddenly.

"I broke it, trying to hang a picture," Mort replied smoothly. Sands chuckled, he reached down into the trash bin and pulled out a piece of a floppy disk.

"Then what the hell is this?"

"Random shit I found in my boxes," Mort replied.

"Was it all ready broken?"

"Yeah," Mort kept the fear at bay; it wouldn't do to get unnaturally fearful of this man. He imagined the floppy pieces lying in a heap in the bottom of a box. He imagined himself gathering it all up and throwing it out. That's what happened.

Sands shook his head; he took out a bag and fished out all the pieces of the floppy. Once he was sure that he had it all. He turned back to Mort.

"Am I the only person coming around asking questions?" Sands asked.

"Yes," Mort replied, quite truthfully. Sands leaned over him kissed him slightly on the lips.

"Don't kiss and tell," Sands winked. He claimed back his handcuffs and with no other words, vacated the premises. Mort held his wounded hand close and hoped that he wouldn't see Sands again, whoever he was, a cord of fear and self-survival had been plucked within his soul.

* * * *

"It was smashed to pieces," Juan said. The man was a Forensic Technician in the CIA Head Quarters of New England. He was of Mexican decent but had been born and raised in the states. He had a head of luxurious black hair and muddy, blue eyes.

"How recently do you think?" Sands asked.

"I can't tell you that, but it looks pretty recent," Juan replied. Sands put a finger to his lips in thought.

"Any prints?" he asked next.

"Yeah, Rainey's and Milner's, but, I had to piece it together to get the prints.

Rainey's prints are all over the thing," Juan explained, "before it was broken,"

"Really," Sands smirked, "Would ya look at that," he shook his head.

"The little fucker lied," he chuckled. Mort Rainy had balls, he could give him that.

* * * * *

He was getting tired of this. Real tired of it; people always knocking on his door. And always wanting to ask him questions. He sneaked a peak out of the window, it wasn't Sands but they didn't look like the sort of people he would socialize of his own free will. They wore suits, and looked daunting. Mort saw one man bring out a gun.

He didn't wait any time in running for the back door. He neglected to look out the window and was stopped by a broad crested man. He was grabbed roughly and wrestled to the floor. Someone shot out the lock on the front door and thundering foot steps filled the cabin.

Things were being torn through, trashed, broken, pages being ripped or of books, glass breaking. It was painful to listen too. The man who had caught him cuffed Mort's hands behind him before gagging and blind folding the writer.

"Did you find it?" the man asked.

"No," another replied, "It isn't here,"

Once his attackers were sure that there was nothing of value in the house that they wanted, they hauled their prisoner out and to the car. They drove away, leaving the cabin without its companion.

* * * * *

When he arrived, he did not notice the side door of the house stood ajar.

He poked his head into the cabin though, when he noticed the shot out lock of the front door. His automatic in his hand, Sands wondered the cabin; he kept seeing Mort bleeding and dead on the floor, but he found no one. Especially not Mort Rainy.

Thirty minutes later Juan and the rest of the Forensics Team of the New England CIA branch arrived. Sands was leaning against his car, smoking.

"What happened?" Juan asked.

"Someone took our lead," Sands muttered, none too happy about this sudden turn of events.

A/n – enjoy the update. *lol*


End file.
